Dead inside
by AliceParrilla18
Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERS! Hawkeye is left with nothing after the snap, but he's not the only one who had lost everything. Missing scene and conversation between Natasha and Clint from the movie. Natasha&Clint friendship.


**A/N : WARNINGS : Endgame spoilers and slight menton of suicide.**

**The story takes place 4 years after the snap. Might be a little chaotic, sorry for that. English is not my main language and I'm only looking for a beta, so I'm also sorry for mistakes (remember that we're all humans and that we're writing just for fun). Comments are appreciated. Enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER : Not mine, everything belongs to MCU.**

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Four years.

It's been four years since he had lost his family. Laura, Lila, Cooper, Nathaniel. Four years since half of the lives in the universe had turned to dust. Four years since he still had that tiny bit of hope that everything could be fixed. Four years since he had tried to accept the failure. Four years since he had failed.

Clint Barton, or rather Ronin, as people used to call him recently, ran to the other side of the clearing, hidden in the darkness of the night. He fired one of his arrows towards the tree standing in the shadows so that it was almost impossible to see. The arrow with the rope wrapped around the thickest branch. Bouncing off the trunk, Ronin found himself on the branch with three jumps and sat on it, blending in with his surroundings. He leaned his head against the bark and sighed deeply.

This one place, this one tree standing not 100 meters from the former Avengers headquarters, was able to give him a break in the madness of his life, which has changed forever. This place, probably the only one in the world, was bringing him relative peace and relief, a reminder of better times when he didn't have to worry about anything and when he was sure that whatever happened, he would never be alone. And though now, four years later, when he almost forgot about his previous life as if it was someone else's, he had felt the need to come here. He could charge the batteries, gather strength for further battle the next day. Fight, which he fought not only with criminals, but also the one in his heart, so much sore and begging for a break from suffering. He would like to be able to change it, but that was his reality now. Pain after losing his family filled every inch of his body, every corner of his mind and every second of his day. He missed them so much.

He turned his head to look at the building. He was coming here once a week to sit and look at it. Huge, modern and graceful for four years hasn't changed at all. One of the walls still had a huge „A" on it, which symbolized unity, bravery and safety. And although the building looked as good as new, none of these things were left there.

He could count on the fingers of one hand the people he had seen since he started to come here. Most often he saw Steve Rogers, maybe four or five times, others appeared sporadically, if at all. Their former seat, for four whole years, was almost empty.

Almost.

Every night he climbed the same tree, every time he looked the same way, he saw the light, a single lamp standing in the living area. He was coming here at different times, but the light was always on, while the rest of the building remained in the dark.

He knew she was there. And she was there alone. He could guess that Steve was coming to see her, but it wasn't enough. He didn't know what was happening inside, but he knew how she must have feel for all this time, so lonely in the huge building, having only her own thoughts as her company. He knew that this could drive a person crazy.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to see her. The tree was too far away for him to see through the window. He also never saw her outside. He could easily get inside. So why didn't he? He couldn't find a logical explanation, except for one that he was immediately thinking about. He was a coward. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to look her in the eye. He was afraid that after all he had done, she wouldn't want to know him. He knew that she had the right to, he expected it, and still the thought was terrifying him.

He lost too much already to loose her, too.

Sitting and thinking, it seemed to him that something had changed. He frowned and looked around, not really knowing what he was looking for. Something has changed, something has been missing. And then, when he looked at the building again, he knew what it was.

For the first time in such a long time, the only light coming from the headquarters went out.

He began to look intensely at the window, waiting for the light to reappear, but nothing happened. He swallowed the bump that appeared in his throat, feeling a strange feeling inside that he couldn't get rid of. Nothing must have happened. Maybe they turned off the electricity. Or she just went to bed. However, minutes passed, and the darkness remained. It was also quiet.

He stood up on the branch, wondering what he should do now. He was worried about her, but did she really need him? Did she need his help? What if she kicks him out and says she doesn't want to see him anymore? Should he take the risk?

_Stop it. Stop being a coward. _He took a deep breath and made a decision. He waited almost four years, he couldn't wait any longer. He'll just look in and check if everything is all right. If she orders him to leave, he will. He would do anything for her, and they both knew about it.

He jumped down from the tree and began to run, pausing for a moment at the main entrance, but as he supposed, the door was closed. So he run the building around. Looking up, he noticed that the kitchen window was wide enough to open it wider and slip in without being noticed if she wasn't there. He fired an arrow like the previous one, which caught the wall on the lower roof. He began to climb the rope with the agility of a cat. When he reached the window, he looked around to make sure no one could see him. He slipped his hand into the crack and silently opened the window, and then jumped inside.

Nothing has changed there. Everything was perfectly clean, even a bit of dust wasn't lying on the countertops or cabinets. Taking steps quietly and carefully, he left the kitchen and began to walk down the hall towards the living room. Everywhere there was complete silence, so that he was afraid that his presence would betray his heartbeat in his chest. He stopped at the entrance to the living area, from where the light started again, though much more delicate than before. Unconsciously holding his breath, he came close enough to be unnoticed but also to be able to lean out, and looked into the room.

He quickly realized that the new light source was a smaller night lamp on the table next to the couch. The room seemed sad and gloomy in its faint glow. There were bottles on the desk under the window, some empty, some full or partly filled with alcohol, and a few glasses and wine glasses next to them. On the floor in the middle of the room was a larger lamp that was shining earlier, and next to it two bulbs, broken.

And in the middle of this chaos, was she.

Barton's heart squeezed with sadness and pain. He couldn't see her face, for she was kneeling on the ground with her back to him, hunched and bent over the glass. She was wobbling a little, holding a bottle of whiskey in her hand. Her hair, which has grown and become two-colored, fell in artistic disarray on her lean arms, some of them covering her face. She reached out with her free hand toward the broken light bulb and slowly grabbed a piece of glass. She watched it for a moment, twisting between her fingers, and then frozen in place. She stared at the glass and began to clench it in her small, trembling hand. She didn't make even the softest sound when the first trickle of dark blood began to run down her wrist.

The man's eyes widened in terror, and his heart forgot for a moment that it must beat. He could no longer look at her hurting herself like that.

''Don't be ridiculous, Romanoff. Put it down," he said quietly, but loud enough for her to hear him, and stepped inside the room revealing his presence. From a gentle twitch of her arms he knew she had heard him, but she didn't turn to him. She stopped clenching her hand, but didn't release the glass from it. She made a sound, like a giggle and a sob at the same time.

''Why?" she breathed after a moment. If he wasn't looking at her and didn't know it was her, Barton wouldn't recognize her by her voice, which was now quiet, rough and hoarse from the long non-use. When was the last time she spoke to someone?

''Because it's never the way, and you know that well enough."

He heard her deep sigh and breathed a sigh of relief as she finally put the glass down on the floor. Swaying, she began to rise, and when she stood straight, she turned on her heel and looked at him for the first time in nearly four years.

Clint knew every centimeter of her face by heart, especially her eyes, her big eyes, green with the little brown dots that reminded him of the forest, and that's why he always felt at home when he looked at them. He'd stare at them for so many years and always find what he was looking for. Her eyes were always warm.

And now? Looking into her eyes, he had the feeling that he was looking into the eyes of someone else, a stranger. All the familiarity he knew so well, disappeared. Deep green replaced gray. The glow replaced the shadow. Joy replaced sadness. Life replaced numbness. Her eyes, once filled with love and determination, were now completely empty, devoid of any emotions. And it hurt him the most.

Natasha shifted her weight from one leg to the other and smiled gently, though Clint knew it wasn't a real smile. She put a bottle she was still holding in her hand to her mouth and took a sip.

''So, you came," she said after a moment, putting the bottle down on the desk. She looked at him again and raised an eyebrow. ''Gotta say, it took you a while. About… four years, actually."

Swallowing, he moved his gaze down at his feet, unable to look at her after all that had happened. _Coward._

''I know," he said, not being able to offer her more at the moment. She laughed quietly to herself and took unsteady step toward him. Alcohol could be sensed from her from a distance. And she wasn't the one to get drunk.

''What brings you here, then?" this drunk smile again. ''I guess you hadn't missed me."

''What would you think if I told you that I had?" he answered with question for a question. She snorted.

''I wouldn't believe you. You have others you can miss." Her words were like knives into his heart. For a moment he didn't know what to say.

''They're all gone, Nat. All of them."

At that moment her face, so tired and even more pale than usual, if it was possible at all, turned into a stone. Faint dizziness caused by alcohol disappeared, and in its place a deadly seriousness appeared. She frowned, her lips tightened into a narrow line, and her eyes got darker. She took a few more steps toward him, almost falling over on the way. She stood in front of him straight, at the distance of extending their arms. Looking at him, she cocked her head gently. Clint wasn't sure how long he could take the weight of her gaze he felt so guilty from.

''I know about that," she whispered. Her hands unconsciously clenched in fists.

''I couldn't do anything, they just turned to dust right in front of me, they-''

''I know how they died!" she screamed suddenly interrupting him, and Clint flinched, startled by the sudden change in her behavior. She made another clumsy step and raised her head to look him in the eye. He didn't know how it was possible at the same time, but her eyes, though still so empty, were now burning with anger. There was something else there that he couldn't identify.

''Nat, I-'' he started but she cut him off again, and tears began to appear in the corners of her eyes.

''I know how half of the universe died, because I too saw it with my own eyes. I saw the dust, the only thing left of our friends, I felt it flowing through my fingers, so I know what you felt because I felt exactly the same when I was loosing everyone I care about and couldn't do anything to stop it. And Laura and the kids? Don't forget that they were also my family. They weren't taken away only from you that day, I loved them and I lost them, too. So don't make it about yourself, cause it's not," she hissed through clenched teeth without taking her gaze off him. The first tear ran down her cheek. Clint was too surprised to bring something out of himself. ''You were running around the neighborhood attacking everything standing on your way all this time, trying to let out all the anger you had in yourself. Alone. You weren't giving a sign of life, weren't talking to any of us for four years. Four years, Clint! Have you thought about me at least once? About what I feel? I've never had much in my life, but now I have nothing, because now even you turned your back on me. You all did, when I needed you the most. Do you know how my life looks like now? I spend whole days in this building. I drink whatever I find in my hands, because when I'm sober I think too much. I eat those damn peanut butter sandwiches, because it's the only thing left from reserves, and I'm scared of going to the stupid store, of coming out to people, of their looks and judgment, knowing that I failed them. I can't turn the light off even for a minute, because when I do, I see faces of everyone who's not here anymore, and I get overwhelmed even more by the fact that I'm alone, all alone, and I'm so, so scared. Every day I think about all those people whose lives were good and filled with love and they died anyway, while I, who has killed so many, am still here, and how it's so unfair. Maybe it's a punishment for all I've done." She looked at her hand, dirty from blood and cut by the glass. She took a shaky breath. ''Sometimes I think it's the only way to end this suffering. I'm tired. I'm so tired, Clint."

The thoughts in his head circled almost as fast as tears ran down his face. He stared at her with wide eyes. She was so small, too small to hold all this mess, to keep the weight of the world on her shoulders, too small to survive everything that she went through, all the evil and cruelty she experienced. And yet, she was still here. However, it was only now that Clint could see how devastated she was. Broken by the broken world. They both were. That was the price of being a hero. The price that each of them had to pay.

He had no idea. How could he be so selfish? How could he allow darkness and death to take over her so much? He excused himself with the fear that he would be rejected, not letting himself think that she didn't really care about what he did, because everything she needed was him, his presence and support he couldn't give her. He hadn't realized what was happening in her head. How could he let this happen? What kind of friend was he?

Reaching his hand out he took a step in her direction, but she jumped away as if burned before he could touch her.

''You left me!" she screamed again. ''I needed you and you weren't there, none of you were! You gave up. On all the fallen, on me, on us. You gave up! I'm left all alone with this chaos again and I just don't have the strengh to do this anymore! You left!"

Stepping back in anger Natasha stumbled over a broken lamp, and if it wasn't for Clint's arms, she would fall to the floor. And though she was safe now, he didn't let her out of his grip. She was screaming, hitting him where only her small fists could reach, and he let her. She struggled and struggled in all directions, trying to free herself, but he held her in place, squeezing her even harder.

Finally, after a few minutes, the strength left her body completely, and she gave up. She fell on him, weakened by the fight, and hid her head under his chin, clenching her hands on his jacket. He only kissed her hair and without a word held her small, quivering body in his arms. And she was crying.

''I want to hate you," she whispered so quietly that he hardly heard her. Denying her own words, she moved closer to him, clinging to his chest like a small, frightened child she was deep inside her. A small, innocent child, thrown into a cruel world. He closed his eyes and hid his face in her hair.

He didn't want to loose her, but he hadn't realise that he already did. Now, he had to try to get her back.

''You can hate me. I deserved it."

''With each passing day I feel more and more dead inside," she said. He didn't speak for a moment, searching for words. As if in this situation any words could help.

''But you're not dead, you're alive. We both are. And all this pain we feel right now is proving it best."

She raised her head for a moment to look at him, then hid it again. None of them spoke anymore. He felt her small body trembling, and her tears wetting his shirt. He stood straight, his arms around her waist, drawing small circles on her back with his fingers. He knew it would never be enough, that he would never be able to make up for his absence. He didn't ask for forgiveness, because something like that cannot be forgiven. He only hoped that this small, delicate creature would try to understand him someday.

She deserved so much more.

They didn't know how much time had passed and they didn't care. The only thing they could focus on was the heat of the other person next to them, which they lacked and needed so much. Two broken souls, drawing strength from each other. So different, and yet so similar. So weak, yet so strong.

So alone, yet so together.

**THE END**


End file.
